


woah, woe is him

by nxttime



Series: we're lost then we're found [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood: Lost Days, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Plays the violin, Jason went back home because he was homesick au, Thanks to an anon from tumblr, jeihrugt, uhh, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-06 19:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20511917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nxttime/pseuds/nxttime
Summary: He swallowed thickly, squeezing his eyes shut tighter, and realized how hard he was crying as tears dripped off his jaw, hands gripping the instruments they held tightly out of emotion but delicately out of respect and care, teeth biting his lower lip so hard he bled as he started to lower the violin and bow, now visibly trembling that he’s finished the song.It came out perfect.





	woah, woe is him

**Author's Note:**

> finished this in about two hours, so yeah.
> 
> I HOPE YOU ENJOY THE TEARS.

It was funny, how it happened.

Jason was sick and tired of feeling alone. He was _tired _of the plans for murder, tired of the revenge, tired of anger that wasn’t his. He was sick, and he was tired, and he just wanted to go home—

So he did.

He didn’t knock on the door to the manor like a normal person would—no, he was feeling many things but normal—rather, he broke into his old room.

Truth be told, Jason wasn’t sure what it was he’d been expecting to see. An empty room with nothing in it, maybe; all his old stuff removed and put into the attic, new posters and bedsheets and clothes in the closet that meant someone else had moved into his room…

But that wasn’t what he saw.

No, instead everything is how he remembers leaving it the day he ran to his death. Everything is the same, except everything looks like it’s been cleaned up a bit, and as he looks around emotion starts welling up in his chest—it grabs him by the throat and smiles against his ear, laughing a little, and it’s all he can hear as his heart skips several beats and he—

He freezes as his eyes land on his desk.

There, carefully settled in its case, lies his violin.

_“I have a surprise for you!” he declared, cheeks hurting with how hard he was smiling as he grabbed Bruce’s hand and dragged him into his room._

_Bruce laughed a little as he sat down in the chair Jason had pushed him towards, Alfred beside him looking as equally amused and fond as Bruce seemed, and Jason smiled widely at both of them, glancing over at Dick—who also looked fondly amused—then picking up his violin and bow and taking a deep breath. He’d been practicing the song for months, day in and day out, and at this point knew it better than he knew his name. _

_He wanted to make Bruce, Dick, and Alfred proud._

_After he counted off five seconds in his head, Jason started playing, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he did, lip bitten between his teeth as he concentrated._

The same violin from all those years ago, still polished and well-maintained, still neatly tucked and _clean _in the open case on his desk, still—

Still _there._

Now, Jason walked over to it, breath trembling—but not his hands, no, _never_; if they shook they’d ruin the song and it had to be _perfect _for his family—and he picked the violin up with his emotion screaming in his ears and resonating in his brain, making it impossible for any other thoughts to form.

It was laughable how naturally it all came back to him; how trained it was to correct his posture, tuck the violin under his chin, angle his arm and shift his hands—which was a minor adjustment because along with his growth spurt he’d gotten longer fingers—and Jason tightened his jaw.

Taking a long inhale through his nose, Jason closed his eyes tightly as he started playing _Death of a Violin _entirely from muscle memory, back to the door of his room.

For a violin-only song it was a relatively short one—only about two minutes and ten seconds long—but it felt like an eternity passed with every changing chord and string.

By the time he was finished with the song Jason became aware he had an audience.

He swallowed thickly, squeezing his eyes shut tighter, and realized how hard he was crying as tears dripped off his jaw, hands gripping the instruments they held tightly out of emotion but delicately out of respect and care, teeth biting his lower lip so hard he bled as he started to lower the violin and bow, now visibly trembling that he’s finished the song.

It came out perfect.

_“Jason?”_

Jason took a deep breath and licked his lip, opening his eyes to tuck the violin carefully into its case, delaying the inevitability that was facing his family for as long as he could.

He laid the violin down and nestled it into the case with delicacy he didn’t know he was still capable of—so many things tainted on his hands, _so many—_and set the bow down in it’s designated section as well, with deft fingers lifting the top of the case to close it, and securing the latches to keep it shut.

Then he had nothing left to do but straighten once more.

And turn to face his audience.

Dick stood in the doorway, leaning heavily against the wall for support, and his face crumpled when Jason turned to look at him.

“Little Wing?” he asked, voice trembling terribly as he stumbled forward and abandoned the wall, movements haggard and _screaming _their grief right along with the cries in Jason’s ears, in his _head, _and he held Dick’s gaze in his own—green, fiery, poisonous, _flaming green gaze, nothing like the teal it used to be—_when his brother stopped a foot away.

Jason stood stiller than a statue as Dick picked his face apart bit by bit as if to confirm Jason’s identity more solidly than the song he’d played did, and all the tension in his body bled away the minute Dick decided he really was him and flung his arms tight around his chest.

_“You’re back,” _Dick choked out into Jason’s chest—his _chest, _when did Jason get _taller than Dick—_and Jason couldn’t answer but to return the tight embrace with equal amounts of sincerity and emotion, having to bend down a little to do it properly.

“Hey, Dick,” Jason eventually managed to mumble in a watery whisper against Dick’s shoulder.

His response must have made the situation even more _real, _because Dick cried harder into Jason’s chest—hugged him _just that bit tighter._

When he and Dick broke apart, Bruce had appeared in the room and was looking so much worse for wear that Jason’d ever seen him, and this time Jason couldn’t help but rush forward and squeeze Bruce close, screwing his eyes shut as he breathed in Bruce’s cologne and his aftershave and everything that made Bruce _Bruce, _and he’d—Jason’d missed this _so much._

Bruce returned Jason’s fierce hug, crushing Jason into his returned embrace, and Jason cried a little more as he held him.

_“I missed you,” _Jason rasped against Bruce’s Gotham Knights sweatshirt, hands fisting the fabric tightly.

“I missed you too, Jaylad,” Bruce replied just as raggedly. _“I missed you.”_

A polite little throat clear later and Bruce was replaced with Alfred, Jason just _torn _by the fact that he was _taller than Alfred, the brit who’d always seem bigger than life—_and they exchanged their own soul-deep greetings.

Then Dick joined their hug, his forehead on the back of Jason’s neck—and Jason started to break a little more—then _Bruce _joined the hug, made it a real family special, and Jason was _gone._

Sobs wracked his body and he came undone in the arms of his family—his _family—_and he was home.

_Home._


End file.
